


Forgetting's an Art

by buckybleeds



Series: Alphabet Soup [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Consent Issues, Crying, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Double Penetration, Drooling, Drugged Sex, Fisting, HYDRA Husbands, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, The deadest of dead doves, Touch Starved Steve Rogers, double fisting, i warned you you can't say shit, it's exactly as bad as it sounds, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 16:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19398019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybleeds/pseuds/buckybleeds
Summary: Brock and Jack talk to Steve about the boundaries they pushed in their last encounter.And by talk I mean they drug Steve's coffee.





	Forgetting's an Art

**Author's Note:**

> Might help to have read Chain of Command but you can probably get away without it. 
> 
> Also. This is like.  
> SO MUCH trash.  
> Last chance to bail.  
> It's not pretty.
> 
> ETA:  
> I'm re-writing this because I'm unhappy with the pacing and tone; will be posting an updated version shortly.
> 
> ETA:  
> The rewritten fic is up here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262589

Steve's voice on the other end of the line was sleepy and confused. 

"'S'matter? Do I need to suit up?"

What kind of self-respecting 27-year-old was asleep at two a.m. on a Friday? 

"Rumlow, what's the call, where am I meeting you?"

"Oh, you don't talk to me for a week and suddenly you're hot to trot, huh?" Brock was hard and ready but he wasn't going to get there by himself tonight, not the way he'd been drinking. 

Steve woke up fast, apparently. His voice took on an edge. 

"Brock. What's the emergency?"

"No emergency. I just wanted to see if you were free tonight, missed you."

Steve didn't say anything.

"So, are you?" Brock was pretty sure he hadn't felt this drunk when he had sent the call. "Free, I mean?"

"Are you telling me you're using your STRIKE phone to booty call Captain America, Rumlow?"

Oh. Okay. That was pretty goddamned drunk.

"Whoops," he said, and then the call disconnected. 

Brock dug through his large and exciting variety of pockets until he came up with his personal phone and pulled up Steve's number. 

"I'm pissed at you," the younger man growled instead of a greeting. 

"Who the fuck taught you what a booty call is," Brock responded.

"What do you want?"

"Wanna talk. I was feeling lonely. Missed you."

"Yeah? So talk."

That caught him flat-footed for a second. 

"I was hoping you could. Like help me out, maybe. Maybe tell me what it was like working the docks again." 

Steve had let it slip once in bed, told him that the first time he'd gone down on someone it had been for two dollars to buy groceries. Brock liked to turn that picture over in his head - righteous Steve Rogers sixteen years old and using his pink mouth to pay for dinner, desperate and hungry and cornered into his last resort. It made Brock's prick wet and needy like nothing else. 

"Oh yeah," Steve said, his voice dropping a register, turning creamy and warm. "Wanted to hear a story, huh?"

"I like it when you talk me off, sugar, you got a voice for it."

"You got your dick in your hand, big guy?"

Brock scrambled to unzip his pants and cram his free hand down the front of his boxers.

"I do now, sugar, what next?"

"Alright," Steve said, practically purring. "Be really slow, take your time, because I want you to sit down at your computer, open up your browser," his voice was getting sharp and louder "go to pornhub, and learn to take care of yourself like a goddamned adult!"

The phone disconnected again. 

Brock dialed again. Who the fuck did Rogers think he was? 

"Fucking what?"

"I just wanna know exactly what crawled up your ass and died, Princess."

"Fucking Rollins did, dipshit," Rogers roared and the line went dead again. 

Oh. _Oh_. That's right. Outside of STRIKE drills he hadn't talked to Rogers in the week since their encounter with Rollins. Brock's dick perked up a little in his hand just thinking about it but he had to do some damage control. How the fuck much had he had to drink tonight that he'd forgotten about watching Steve squirm and cry on Jack's cock? 

He dialed again. 

"I'm turning off my phone and going back to sleep."

"Aww, sugar, but then you might miss it when one of your friends calls."

"Fuck you, Brock."

Oof. Okay. That had been a low blow. Everybody knew that Rogers didn't have any friends. Brock scrambled to make up for it. 

"Look, Steve, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it was like that. Are you okay?" He and Rogers hadn't been exactly touchy-feely lovebirds before Jack joined in; going a week without a conversation then meeting up for a fuck in a supply closet wasn't out of the norm, so playing the concerned partner was a challenge. He could handle this, he just had to pretend to be a halfway decent. Decent what? Fuckbuddy? Boyfriend? Person? He'd figure it out. 

"Steve? Talk to me, man."

A huff came through the phone. 

"Tell me what's going through your head."

A laugh that had the definite edge of a sob to it was the only response. 

Rogers had super hearing along with super strength and super healing so Brock was super careful to be completely silent as he began to move his hand up and down his shaft. 

"Oh, honey, did we hurt you?" He made his voice as low and gentle as he could, trying to project tentative concern instead of the savage arousal that was welling in his belly. 

That was a sniffle. He was sure of it. His dick throbbed at the thought of blood trailing down the insides of Rogers' shivering thighs as Jack's huge cock tore him open. It had been so beautiful, like a sunrise.

"Steve, I know we're rough on each other but you have to know I'd never want to hurt you. Are you okay?"

No answer but a shaky breath. 

"You're worrying me, kid. Do you need me to come over?"

"No."

"Are you sure? No agenda or anything, I just wanna make sure you're okay."

Steve swallowed audibly. 

"Brock, you didn't do a great job of listening the last time I said 'no' to you, I'm gonna need you to listen to me now."

Jesus fucking Christ. He was going to get away with raping Capitan Goddamn America. Rogers was never going to tell anyone about this, he was already holding the guilt and regret that he could have stopped it deep inside of him where it would fester and scab and make it that much harder to open up to anyone who might actually help him. And if he kept it quiet once he'd keep it quiet a second time. And a third. And a tenth. And a fiftieth. Brock adjusted his grip on himself and started moving his hand faster. 

"Oh, god, Steve, I didn't - honey you know that's - fuck, I didn't realize you were thinking about it that way. I'm so sorry, honey, I'm so sorry, I thought you liked it."

Rogers wasn't sobbing, which was a shame, but he was breathing hard and Brock could hear the moisture thick in his voice when he spoke. 

"I - I think maybe I did like it. But I wanted you to stop."

"Baby, tell me how I can make this right. If you never want to see me again I understand."

"No, that's not it. I still think. I still wanna see you." Rogers was a terrible liar but a nice enough guy that he'd never tell you to your face that he couldn't stand the sight of you. If he was going to drop Brock he'd want to let him down easy, which meant he'd never be so direct that Brock couldn't reasonably weasel his way back in. Brock loved nice people, they were so simple to train. 

"Do you want to keep this just between me and you in the future, keep Jack out of it?"

"I don't know. I. There was a - parts of that were good."

"What didn't you like, sweetheart?"

"You didn't stop. I - I wanted you to stop. Said it was too much and he kept going anyway." 

Brock had to clamp his hand down at the base of his cock and bite his lip at the lightning bolt of sensation that sent through him. Steve had begged, his mouth dripping Brock's cum and his face wet with tears. It was one of the most stunning things he had ever seen and thinking about it made the low, deep sensation building inside of him feel sharp and electric where he was touching himself. 

"We can talk to Jackie, honey. Make sure that never happens again. We've gotta be open with this if we're gonna make it work. Communicate. What else?"

"It hurt. Brock, it hurt really bad."

"Oh, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," he'd like to stretch this out but if Rogers was going to whimper like that he'd blow his load in minutes. "Do you want Jack sidelined for a while until we figure out what to do about that?"

"No. I want to try to make this work for all of us."

God bless Rogers' sweet, stupid, blonde little head. His sense of fair play was going to get him killed some day. 

"Did you like being with him, honey?"

"I don't know. It. It hurt but. I don't know. I don't have the words for it."

"What do you mean? C'mon, I wanna talk about this, get clear on it," he was so close, his cock was hot and heavy and starting to drip as he squeezed his fist up over the head. 

"Physically it was. God, I don't know if I can do that again, it was too much," he sounded like he was choking on the words, loathe to admit there was anything he couldn't do. Perfect. 

"That's okay, baby, Jack will understand, he's used to it."

He could practically hear Rogers chewing that thought over, connecting the dots, and understanding that if he could barely handle Jack no unenhanced human would stand a chance. Making Rogers probably the one person Jack had been with that way in god knows how long, which meant -

"It was a lot. Overwhelming. But maybe we could try again. Go slow."

Nice people. Unbelievable how easy it was to use them. 

"Maybe you'd feel better if we had you on top? Put you in control?"

"Um," Steve said, "I kinda liked when I didn't have control, actually."

"I'm sorry, is there something I'm missing? I thought you wanted us to listen to you."

"I don't know, I don't know," Steve wasn't exactly whining but he sounded frustrated and confused. "It hurt and I didn't want it but I liked what. I liked how it felt when he - fuck. I liked when he made me feel stupid and made choices for me. But I - I said it was too much. I know you heard me."

Sooner or later his need to bait Rogers was probably going to get him killed but right now it just had his dick drooling in his hand as he thanked the lord for blessing him with the presence of nice people. 

Nice people from the 1940s. Nice people who had missed out on all those HR hotbutton topics like consent and victim blaming. Nice people who wanted to please people, who wanted people to like them, who wanted friends. Nice people who thought everything was their responsibility, that if something went wrong it must be a failing on their part. Brock loved nice people, they were so, so easy to use. 

"Steve, you know you could have stopped us at any time. I liked what we were doing but I know it's a game. It's not supposed to actually hurt you. Why didn't you just push us off?"

"I know I could have."

"That's not an answer, honey. If you wanted it to stop why didn't you stop us?"

"I don't know," he sounded so lost. Brock felt his nuts drawing up tight against him and carefully thrust his cock up into the tight sheath of his fist. 

"Baby, you're all messed up, I'm coming over."

"Brock," Steve's voice got a little more solid. "I really don't think that's a good idea. I'll call you when I want to talk about this again."

"Steve," Brock put some command into his tone. "I'm worried about you. You're confused and it's my fault and you're going to let me come over and take care of you."

"I'll call you after the weekend," Rogers countered.

"If you really didn't want me over you could have hung up," he lowered his voice and spoke softly. "You're not so good at asking for help, champ. I've got you, I want to help, I want to take care of my boy. I'll see you in half an hour, Stevie."

He hung up before Steve could beat him to it and began thinking about baseball. He wanted to be fresh when he got to Steve's, primed to go. He called Jack and tried to wipe the stupid grin off his face while he waited. 

***

If he didn't get his breathing under control in thirty seconds he was going to start screaming and never quit.

He didn't want Brock coming over, he had wanted Jack to stop, and logically he knew that saying so should have been enough to get through to them but it was like he could never hit on the right combination of words to get them to take him seriously. 

He _had_ hung up on Brock. Several times. He _had_ tried to pull away from Jack. But he couldn't just turn his augmented strength on regular people, even if they were STRIKE commandos. He shouldn't have to justify himself. 

He threw on a clean pair of soft joggers and an a-shirt. If Brock did show up Steve wanted to be wearing more than his boxers. 

He considered his door.

Brock had a key to the main lock and the deadbolt. The chain lock was pathetic and Steve had accidentally ripped it off the wall a week ago. He could pile furniture in front of the door if he wanted to look exactly as crazy as he felt. 

He picked up his phone. 

There were only a handful of numbers in it. He almost never called them. 

He could see if Natasha would let him come over for a night. That'd go great, crashing on her couch because otherwise his coworker who he sometimes fucked might want to show up and have a conversation. 

Calling Tony was out, Bruce could be on a whole different continent. And that was it, other than STRIKE.

Hating himself, he dialed Natasha and got a prompt message that the subscriber he was trying to reach was not available. 

He could try to lock the door and go back to sleep. Maybe Brock wouldn't show up and Steve could go back to being pissed instead of confused. 

But if Brock did show up Steve didn't want to be nervously awaiting him on the couch. So screw it. It was almost late enough to be early. Steve put on a pot of coffee and went for a run. 

Three miles in the concerns that had seemed so big when Brock woke him up from a dead sleep seemed smaller, like he'd blown them out of proportion. It was a good thing that Brock wanted to come over and make nice. It was what Steve had wanted a week ago.

And it was kind of sweet that the older man was being so pushy about it. Steve knew that Rumlow worried about him, thought he was green and reckless. This was just another way he was looking out for his team. 

Steve made his way back to his building and tromped upstairs, trying not to think about what it meant if he walked in and found Brock sitting on his couch. If he was or wasn't there it wasn't a big deal. They'd gotten through the really nasty first push of talking and now it was just filling in the details. Steve could handle that. 

What he couldn't handle was that he didn't find Rumlow on his couch. He found Rollins. 

***

Steve froze in the doorway like a stunned rabbit. 

"Uh," he said, still holding his keys in his hand and darting his eyes around the room. "Um, hi. Jack."

Rumlow was next to him, looking concerned. Jack frowned and smacked the back of Brock's head. 

"You asshole, you didn't say that I was coming, did you?"

"Ow! Hey!"

"This is exactly the kind of thing I meant when I brought up trust, jackass."

Rollins stood and turned to Steve. 

"I'm sorry, I had no idea you didn't know I was coming along. My mistake, give me a call if you want to talk for any reason." He had sidestepped Steve at the door and was trying to exit to the hall behind him. 

Steve pinched at the bridge of his nose. He hadn't had a headache in seventy years. Maybe he'd have one today. 

"You can stay. Come back in."

Jack hesitated.

"It's not a problem, I can leave. You're in charge here."

Steve laughed. It came out a little wild. He waved toward the kitchen. "C'mon, both of you. There's coffee."

He poured three cups. Jack stood at the counter, observing the tension in Steve's shoulders as he accepted the drink. 

"Do you want to talk to us, Steve, or do you want us to go? Brock said he was worried about you, but you don't really seem like you're in the mood to get in touch with your feelings," Rollins gave him a wry smile and looked pointedly at Steve's crossed arms and closed posture.

Steve shrugged one sculpted shoulder and raised his cup to his lips. 

"I don't know what I want. I didn't want him to come by in the first place but now that you're both here I don't want to be here alone. I want to go back to sleep, I want to knock down a wall. Why did you come?"

Rollins leaned on the counter and reached out a hand to Steve. The younger man considered for a moment then set his coffee aside and took the offering. Rollins held his hand and looked deeply into Steve's eyes as he spoke. 

"Because I like you, and I liked being with you, but that doesn't matter if you're hurting. If you're hurting all I care about is making you feel better, baby."

Steve looked away first, and Rollins used his hold on his hand to pull him closer. He put his other hand on the broad chest in front of him and drew it up gently until he was cupping Steve's cheek and subtly tilting his chin so they were once again looking into each other's eyes. Steve realized he was shivering. 

"You want me to take care of you, baby?"

Steve bit his lip. 

"I don't know why I feel like this around you."

"Like what?"

"Confused."

"Is it a bad feeling?" Rollins was gently running his hand through Steve's hair, his other hand had settled on his trim waist, long fingers just brushing the upper curve of his ass.

"Not bad. Just. Strange. Warm. Nothing in the future is warm."

"It's not?" Steve's eyes were drooping closed and a flush was rising in his cheeks. 

"No. It's cold here all the time."

***

Brock Rumlow was a proud man. He knew his worth and his value, was aware of his skills and talents. He was useful, clever, resourceful, and vicious. 

He also knew when he was outclassed and knew to keep his big mouth shut when Jack was working his magic. 

It was like watching a snake hypnotize a baby bird. Rogers had gone from a jangle of nerves to sluggish compliance all for a couple of pleasant touches and a listening ear. 

Brock was a good liar out of necessity, he had to lie well enough to pass muster at an intelligence agency but it wasn't like he enjoyed it or anything. 

Rollins was a master manipulator and he did it for sheer love of the game. 

Brock watched him intently, impressed, and waited for his signal. 

Even if you were a master manipulator it never hurt to have an ace or two up your sleeve. When flicked his fingers twice behind Steve's back Brock quickly and unobtrusively emptied a small envelope of reddish powder into Steve's cup. 

Brock was probably going to have a hell of a hangover at some point, but for the moment at least he was having a great day. 

***

"Let's go sit down someplace comfortable."

Steve wobbled when Jack stepped away from him and hated himself for it. He hated himself for not turning Brock and Jack away, he hated himself for how stupid and lost he got when Jack touched him, hated himself for thinking he might drop to his knees and let Rollins try to stuff his impossible cock down his throat if he promised Steve a hug afterwards. 

This was bad. This was all very bad. He wanted to be furious with these men, who had hurt him and used him and ignored him begging then to stop, but it seemed like all his body wanted was to keep feeling their hands on him. 

Brock and Rollins were carrying their coffee into the living room. Steve picked up his own cup and followed. He hated himself for nearly sobbing in relief when Rollins left a space beside himself on the couch an pointedly waited for Steve to fill it.

"I want you to tell me how you feel about what we did last time we were together. Brock has said a few things but I want to hear it from you." Jack took a sip of his coffee and Steve mirrored the action before he spoke.

"I liked some of what happened and I didn't like some of it. I liked how you talked to me, I liked, uh. I ended up liking how you got me off."

"Well, that's a good start," Jack said, and smiled charmingly. "I liked those things too, and I don't think Brock had any complaints."

Brock grinned and spread his hands out in front of him. "No, I had a pretty good time - 'swhy I wanna do what we can to try it again."

Jack frowned. "That's getting a little ahead of ourselves. I want to hear what you didn't like too."

Steve fiddled with his mug and drank some more coffee before he spoke. Jack put a wide, warm hand on his knee and rubbed it encouragingly, making Steve suck in a startled breath.

"You're, um," his eyes met Jack's for half a second before his gaze skittered away, "you're really big. And it hurt when you were, uh. Taking you hurt. And when I said that it was too much you didn't listen and that scared me."

"But didn't you like it in the end?"

"I did. I just didn't like what led there." Steve's cheeks were flooded with pink, bright and beautiful. 

"I thought you just needed a minute, baby. Once you caught your breath it seemed like you were okay. If you were scared why didn't you stop me?"

Steve growled in frustration and stood up. 

"You have no idea how hard it is to be like this, how careful I have to be every minute to make sure I'm not killing everyone around me. Here, look," he picked up his mug, a thick ceramic thing. He tossed back the remnants of his coffee and casually crushed the mug to pieces in his fist and deposited the remaining fragments on the coffee table. 

Brock, the idiot, moaned. Steve glared at him. 

"You like that? Think that's hot? Imagine it was your skull. I have nightmares about that kind of thing." Steve dropped back down in his seat and put his head in his hands. "I can't just shove you off if you're hurting me because even if you're hurting me I don't want to put you through a fucking wall."

Rollins turned in his seat and wrapped Steve in a hug, pressing his head into his chest. He froze at the unexpected contract. 

"You're not gonna break us, baby. We're not stupid, we know how strong you are, we would never let it get that far," Jack kissed Steve's temple and petted at his hair. "If you still want to try this thing we'll just have to be more careful in the future. But for right now, I'm sorry we scared you, baby boy."

Steve was stalled out. His brain went offline when Jack's arms wrapped around him and was coming back up in safe mode. His heart rate spiked and the world got brighter and he had just enough processing power to realize that something about that didn't seem quite right before his skin started to feel too tight and too warm. 

He noticed that Rollins was talking, didn't quite remember when that had started. 

" - baby? You okay?"

"'Mfine," Steve said. Jack wasn't just petting his hair now, he was tugging at it a little. His other hand was low on Steve's back. It felt amazing, like fur and electricity and rose petals. 

"My good baby boy. You just melt when someone gets their hands on you, huh?"

Steve whined and Rollins gathered a fistful of his short hair to pull his head back. 

"Sweet. You're so sweet, honey. You like this?"

He loved this, this was like summer, like breathing. 

"Say you like it, baby."

"like it," was the best he could do. He couldn't focus on words, just the fingers pressing up under his shirt and pulling harder and harder at his hair. 

"You want more, baby?" Rollins was sucking at the skin over his Adams's apple; Steve was in his lap, he didn't remember getting there. 

"Yes, more."

"You want me to fuck you again, baby, let you ride me this time?"

Steve whined louder. He felt hazy and blurred but the memory of pulling a blood-drenched sanitary pad out of his underwear after last time made the world momentarily sharper. 

His pants had been pushed down. Jack had one hand in Steve's hair and the other pinching a pale pink nipple so that must be Rumlow's fingers in his hole, pushing lube into him and making him wet and feeling him quiver. 

"It hurt," Steve ground out, keeping the memory of bleeding for hours at the forefront of his thoughts, wanting to know it had happened, wanting to trust himself, willing them to understand. Rumlow's fingers crooked against Steve's prostate and he moaned, only for Rollins' thick fingers to press into his open mouth. 

"Baby boy, you look so good split open, I can make it feel so good for you."

Brock had three fingers inside of Steve, coring him open while Rollins teased his nipples from soft, pink things to angry points of red. Jack's hand left Steve's hair and pressed into the front of his throat. It took a lot to make him feel small these days but Christ did Rollins ever have what it took. 

"You're gonna take so good, baby boy. Gonna be so tight and wet and spread for me. Bet I can have you sobbing for me to let you cum in five minutes."

Rumlow had four fingers inside him now and was teasing at his dripping rim with his thumb. 

Steve felt like he was on fire, like his skin was going to melt and run off his bones from the heat inside of him. 

Jack leaned back against the couch and pulled Steve down by his throat, gripping one hard thigh to keep it in place. He panted as Rollins spread his own legs, sandwiched between Steve's, to arch the younger man's back and present his hole more completely and obscenely to Rumlow.

Steve felt tears building in his eyes and blurring his vision. "Please, don't," he mumbled, words thick and slow on his tongue. 

When he felt Rumlow's hand pushing and pushing and, _fuck_ , pushing into him he couldn't be sure if it was bigger or smaller than Rollins' cock but he did know that it was too much and too big and he couldn't even make his mouth move to make words. His body was draped limply over Jack's, his swollen, stupid muscles completely useless like the drooling hole of his mouth. 

***

Sometimes they let the Asset be a little bit human again. At a week and a half outside of cryo it was reliably savage and snarling and had to be constantly restrained to prevent escape attempts. 

Once the placid surface was gone and it was offering very creative advice for the ways in which its captors could fuck themselves it became useful as something other than an assassin. It became a near perfect subject for experimentation. 

They needed it human because the most pressing tests were how to make it inhuman again. 

This had been interesting to study before Rogers came out of the ice, but after another super soldier was discovered it became imperative to know how to quickly incapacitate and control one. 

To date the most effective means they had of regaining control over an erratic Asset was Compound 267.

The drug was brilliant, in a typically Hydra-horrifying way. All that it did was cause the body to overproduce oxytocin and serotonin when skin-to-skin contact was initiated. 

In small doses it made the Asset biddable; since 2012 trace amounts of Compound 267 were included in its NG tube nutritional fluid. 

In large doses the thing became incapacitated with pleasure, hazy and moaning, staying wherever you put it so long as you kept a hand on it. 

10mg daily went in its food. 200mg turned it into a kitten. 

Brock had put 500mg into Rogers' coffee and he was doing a shockingly good impression of a blow-up doll, the only difference being his red, leaking prick. 

Before he'd started fingering Rogers open he'd placed one more tool from the Asset-handling kit. A minuscule dermal patch high on the back of Steve's neck would temporarily disrupt the production of GluR proteins, the chemical precursors required for memory formation. 

Which was a shame, because Rumlow would have dearly loved to know that Rogers would remember the helpless sob he'd released when Brock started pressing another two fingers into his spasming hole. 

Jack would remember, though. Jack was looking at him with something like awe and Brock preened at the attention.

"What are you doing, sweetheart?" Rollins ground his hips up against the warm body splayed on top of him. 

"Pretty Pretty Princess thinks you're too big for him. Wanna show him he's wrong. Wanna show him exactly how much he can take." He hooked the two fingers inside of Rogers and tugged away from his wrist, making room for a third and fourth finger to join his other hand. "Hold him open for me, baby. Spread his ass out so you can see what we're doing to him."

The delicate skin of Steve's anus wasn't torn. Yet. However it was red and irritated and shiny with lube. 

"You ever get to fuck a sloppy hole, sweetheart?" Brock leaned in to bite at Jack's mouth, sucking at his soft, scarred lip. "I'm sure everything's tight when you've got a baseball bat in your jockeys. Wanna make him loose for you, wanna watch your cum leak out around you when you finish because his slutty cunt is too blown out to keep it in."

Steve was practically catatonic so the twitching in his hips as Brock was speaking was probably reflexive but he could pretend that the blonde liked the idea, was rocking back onto his hands because he wanted to be fucked out and loose. 

"You're too good to me, sugar," Jack's fingers were digging deep into Steve's pale, round cheeks, "you're so sweet, helping me take care of our cock-hungry little boy. What do you get outta that? You wanna fuck him sloppy too?"

Brock nodded but stayed silent as he concentrated. He pulled his hand out past its widest point and wrapped his other hand around it, tapering his fingers down as narrow as possible, then he locked his elbows, leaned in, and let his weight do all the work for him. 

Rumlow had never personally seen anyone take two hands in real life. Even the Asset broke down and squealed as its body rejected that much penetration. Jack had seen it in porn and figured that unrealistically small hands were involved because he'd seen a couple of ripped-open bodies on interrogation tables that indicated this wasn't something humans were really equipped for. 

But when you got right down to it Rogers wasn't exactly human. 

Brock didn't push or rush it. He just leaned and watched patiently as that slick-shiny asshole pulled further and further open around his joined hands until it passed its tipping point and practically sucked him in to his wrists.

"Jackie," he whined, looking down to where Rogers was wrapped around him. "Jackie, baby, help."

"What's wrong, sugar?" Rollins released Rogers' ass and reached a hand up to cup Brock's cheek. 

"I didn't think this through," he jutted his hips forward. "I'm so hard I could fuck concrete but I can't do anything about it."

Jack laughed indulgently. 

"Give him a couple thrusts to prime the pump for me then pull out. We don't wanna press our luck."

As Brock started to pull back some Jack lifted Steve's face away from where it was plastered to his shoulder and what he saw took his breath away. Rogers' face was red and his eyes were glassy but he didn't look unconscious so much as he looked horribly confused. He was sweating and drooling but he was also frowning; his eyes were tracking. He wasn't blinded by sensation, he saw what was going on. He knew what was happening to him. He just couldn't do a damn thing about it. 

Jack was suddenly trying very hard not to blow his load. 

Brock pressed his hands forward and Rogers keened, making Brock's eyes snap wide open in surprise. 

"We got company, Jackie?"

"Yeah, he's here with us. He sees me."

"Does it look like he likes it?"

Steve's eyelashes were spiked with moisture. His skin had moved past his normal deep pink blush into a red that indicated he was having trouble breathing. The whites of his eyes were traced with red, making the bright blue irises stand out like they were painted on a Kewpie doll. Jack laughed.

"No, sugar, I don't think he likes it at all."

Brock smiled and leaned his weight forward again, pushing deeper into Rogers.

"Good."

***

Jack had seen a lot of incredible things in his life. He'd seen the Red Sea at dawn, bioluminescent algae in the caves of New Zealand, fireworks in China, and Black Widow naked in the showers once. He'd seen things that were too big and real for words, and still the look of pure, cruel joy on Brock's face as he pulled his doubled fists out of Roger's shaking body was going to be one for the record books.

It was a red-letter day for sure.

For his part Rogers seemed to be suspended in some state between solid and liquid, six feet of quivering jello right down to the cherry-red color. An adorable squeak forced its way out of his throat as Brock's hands popped past the last point of resistance and Rogers was left gaping and cold.

"Jesus Christ, Jackie," Brock breathed. He wiped his hand on Rogers' couch and fished a StarkPhone out of his pocket, turning its dumb glass eye on the wreck in Rollins' lap. "Jackie, baby, pull him up, baby."

Jack indulged him, clutching Rogers in his hands and pulling him higher against his chest. 

"Baby, baby, fuck, can I put you in him? Please, honey?"

It was cute how much Brock wanted to be a skirt for him sometimes, how hungry he was to take Jack even if they both knew it was out of the question. 

"Sure sweetheart. You're taking such good care of me, doing all the work. Go ahead, honey."

Jack felt Brock's hands on his zipper, between Steve's splayed legs. He was probably close enough to lean in and taste Rogers' open entrance, but that's not what Brock was after.

He scooted Jack's pants a little lower on his thighs so he could work his hard, huge cock out of his boxers. One of his hands left for a moment and came back wet, coating Jack and squeezing him sweetly before shifting him with a peculiar delicacy and humming contently when he saw the angle he wanted.

"Okay," Brock's voice was low and throaty, "okay baby, let him down, lemme see how he looks on you."

Jack slowly relaxed his arms and felt the subsequent slide of Rogers' heat as his slack body accommodated the penetration. 

He thought his heart might stop.

He'd never felt anything like this.

Brock had been right, Jack had never found anything to stick his dick in that was anything other than drum-tight. The squishy, soft, welcoming feeling of Rogers' abused ass was a revelation.

"Oh, oh baby I don't deserve you," Rollins growled as he thrust his hips up experimentally. 

And god, wasn't that something - instead of a resistant mass of straining muscle that had to be pushed down onto him as he pushed up into it there was only a sweet, soft embrace that took him and took him and never fought back.

Brock was kneeling between Jack's legs, pushing Rogers' cheeks apart and holding part of the super soldier's weight so that Rollins could slide him up and down his cock like a sheath. Jack knew that Brock's eyes were probably wide and wet and hungry, that he was watching the place where Jack disappeared into Steve with a combination of reverence and wrath. He knew his boy was rock hard and hungry for the toy they were sharing.

Jack was an equal-opportunity sadist. He'd hurt whoever he could get away with hurting, up to and including Brock. But Rumlow was something else. He didn't like generic hurts, he needed something to target. 

He'd hated Rogers for a while now. 

Which helped Rollins to make up his mind.

"Help me turn him around, baby," Jack said, forcing himself to go still inside of Steve. "I want you to watch his face when you get in here with me."

***

Brock had seen a lot of fucked-up things in his life but Steve Rogers speared on Jack's cock, facing Brock with his legs spread open and his eyes terribly aware as he felt Rumlow line up with Rollins against his sloppy cunt was probably his brand-new favorite.

Captain Goddamned America was wet from head to toe, his blonde hair dark with sweat, a sheen of moisture dripping down the ridges of his ridiculous torso, and his asshole shiny with a metric fuckton of lube. His face was even worse than his hole, snot and spit and tears glazing his red cheeks. It made Brock want to jerk off in the middle of it and add to the mess but he wouldn't deny himself the opportunity to double dip into Rogers' sanctimonious ass with his favorite person in the whole wide world. 

He couldn't help but watch those big, sad eyes though, and didn't resist the impulse to slip his fingers into Rogers' hot, pink mouth while his cock was squeezed against the silk-steel slab of Rollins' prick by the tight sleeve of Rogers' body. 

Steve's eyes fluttered closed and a strangled whimper stopped up his throat.

"Shut up, princess," Brock panted. "You've had worse."

And he had - even together the two STRIKE commandos weren't as big around as both of Brock's hands; Steve could take it. He could even take it without tearing, if they were careful.

Brock wasn't too interested in being careful. 

He was hungry for this, he had waited. He'd listened to Rogers bitch on the phone and watched him wrap his arms around himself and push those big strong tits out like an invitation and he was done being nice. 

"Move for us, baby," Jack whispered, and Brock did.

The hot, wet slide of Steve around him didn't compare to the feel of driving against Jack's cock. He rocked on his knees and felt the hardness against the underside of his own length. It would be easy to feel inadequate next to the eighth and ninth wonders of the world (Steve Rogers, miracle of science and Jack Rollins' Cock, freak of nature) but all that Brock felt was a dark, ugly pride that these things were his. He was inside of Steve, Jack was holding the super soldier open for him, spreading him open like an offering. Steve's face was a beautiful disaster, Jack's eyes were locked onto Brock's face like he was a stained glass saint.

It would be easy to feel inadequate, instead he felt like the second biggest swinging dick in the world; second only to the one he was grinding against.

Rollins wasn't used to being inside of things. He rubbed off on Brock's thighs every once in a while and took the Asset for a ride whenever he got the chance but it was still a novel enough sensation that he never lasted very long. With Brock nudging against him, a wet kidleather slide of hot, veiny muscle, he didn't even have it in him to move; he just let Brock thrust into him until the pressure under the head inside of Rogers was too much and he let himself go with a sigh, the hard planes of his face softening into something like ecstasy. 

Feeling Rollins finish is what did it for Brock. He'd never say it out loud but making Jack happy, getting down on his knees and doing the work for him, got Brock hot like nothing else. So he was a service slut, who cared?

Those thoughts went off like flashbulbs in his head for the seconds between Rollins orgasm and his own. He bit down on Rogers' perfect pink tit as he came, bringing blood to the surface and stifling a howl.

They came down together, gazing deep into each other's eyes and feeling the dripping mess seeping out of Steve's trembling body as he divided and encased them.

***

It was like coming up from under deep water. Words echoed and rumbled instead of ringing, light shifted in the wind. What seemed like a long time after he was aware that he should be aware Steve picked his head up from where it was resting against Rollins' chest and looked around. 

Based on the light it was late afternoon. They were in Steve's bed, him and Rollins and Rumlow, and not wearing a stitch between them.

He had the distinct feeling that there was something he should know. Something he was missing. It felt odd, unfamiliar in the wake of the serum, which never let him walk away from his memories. 

He frowned and concentrated and got flashes of hands and biting and the feeling of flesh on flesh. He focused harder and thought he remembered blood.

He relaxed and put his head back down into the warm pile of bodies surrounding him, touching him all over. When he closed his eyes he heard a train and saw spread fingers reaching out for him, straining for hopeless inches. 

Wide blue eyes.

An open mouth.

A cold winter.

Steve sighed in the warmth of his bedroom and made a choice, damn the serum and his useless, torturous memory.

The truth is that forgetting's an art, and Steve has always been an artist. 

**Author's Note:**

> So if you read that, thanks - can I get an opinion? When I post the updated version of this story should I delete this version? It wasn't until a day or so after I'd hit "post" that I realized how rough it felt.
> 
> *ETA* - This fic has been rewritten and the version I'm happier with is up here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20262589


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